Silent tears
by planet p
Summary: AU; Jarod is waiting for his father to come home, but the car that pulls up at the kerb in front of his house isn't his father's car.


_1962_

A wintry gust blew in from the open front door, bringing with it the ocean's salty scent, ruffling the colourful patchwork quilt hanging on the lime green hallway wall. Standing in a winter coat and little four-year-old's boots, Jarod glanced at the clock ticking away the time on the wall.

His gaze was drawn to the doorway at the sound of a car pulling up outside, loud music bursting out from the car at the opening of the door. He walked to the front door, humming along to the bits of the song that were playing. He'd heard the song over the radio a lot lately and decided that he liked it.

As he drew closer to the open door, the chilly air bit at his cheeks, making him cover them with his hands. It was awfully cold, even for a Blue Cove winter.

His father had been away and Jarod had an idea that the car that had pulled up in the drive was his father's, but something niggled at him. Reaching the door, he noticed what it was. The car, a baby blue sedan, something from out of the fifties, hadn't pulled up in the drive at all, it was parked at the kerb.

He frowned at the man standing with his mother. She didn't look happy, her arms were crossed tightly over her chest in defence against more than just the cold.

When his mother looked back at the house and saw him standing in the door, watching her conversation with the unknown man, she pulled away from the man and hurried along the concrete path towards the house.

Jarod's eyes flicked from his mother's distressed expression, her vibrant red hair blowing into her mouth with the force of the approaching gale, and skipped to the baby blue car where a little girl sat in the front seat, singing along to the song that was on the radio in a loud voice.

"Margaret!" the man called after her mother. "Mar-" With a sigh, he fell short and turned back to the car, glancing at the little girl shortly before turning back to Margaret's retreating figure and starting up the path.

Just as Jarod was about to wave to the little girl, his mother grabbed his hand – the one he'd put up to wave to the girl – and lead him further into the house, slamming the door after her with a snap.

"Margaret!" the man called through the door. "At least hear me out! For goodness sake's, Maggie, we're family!"

"Who is that man?" Jarod asked, glancing at his mother's worried face with worry in his own eyes.

"Maggie!"

Crossing swiftly to the lounge room window, his mother pushed aside the curtain a little and shouted, "If you don't leave straightaway, I _will_ call the cops!"

Jarod saw the man sigh a second time.

"Margaret, we're going to get him back, just don't do anything rash."

Shaking her head, his mother moved off towards the phone in the hall, taking him with her.

"Mommy," Jarod repeated, "that man said that we're family. Is that true?"

"No, Jarod, he's nothing but a rotten liar," his mother told him in a sad and angry voice. She didn't like that the man was a liar, but she couldn't change how he was. Maybe, once, she'd believed him to be something else.

"Margaret!"

"JUST LEAVE!" his mother hollered, and, as her loud voice rang in his ears, Jarod became suddenly scared, not understanding why his mother would need to resort to raising her voice so much to bring her point across. The man had not appeared to be threatening her, or hurting her, after all.

The man didn't say anything after that, but Jarod heard a car door shut, and then the car, and the music, began to fade away. The car had left; the man and the little girl, too.

Jarod looked up into his mother's face and saw that she was crying, but he didn't know what to do. If he cuddled her, would she shout at him, too? Would she think he was trying to hurt her?

So, for five minutes, maybe more, Jarod and Margaret stood in the hallway with nothing but the sound of Margaret's sobs for company. It was after those long five minutes that Margaret remembered Jarod and pulled him suddenly to her. She didn't kneel down beside him, though, and she didn't bend down to pick him up and hold him against her. She just went on crying quietly, saying nothing of the reason for her tears, giving no explanation, and, by that time, Jarod was ready to cry himself.

He wished his dad was home. His dad would have been allowed to hold his mother without alarming her, he would have been able to ask her what was wrong without her crying even more, or yelling at him.

Sometimes, adults didn't think that children understood. Sometimes, of course, they were right, but most times, they were dead wrong. When they really thought about something, a kid was just as capable as showing the type of perceptiveness an adult could. If they wanted to. Well, that was what Jarod thought, anyway.

The problem was, he didn't know so many kids.

But, right now, it looked like the only thing Jarod's mom wanted to do was cry. She didn't want to think about him; the thing she was thinking about was taking all of her attention, all of her tears, and leaving none for him.

If his dad was there, Jarod knew he wouldn't have ignored him. _Please come home, Daddy_, he thought with all his might, trying not to cry and make things worse for his mom whose sadness threatened, at that moment, to engulf the mother and son and, along with it, Jarod's entire world.

* * *

**Disclaimer** I don't own _the Pretender_ or any of its characters.


End file.
